14 SEPTEMBER, MONDAY
He was scared. John Watson was scared of this. He sat in the backseat of the car taking him to his new home. His parents had just divorced, so he was moving to London with his mother. He had never been to London before, and the thought of living there, well, it was rather frightening. He was much different than the other people that lived there. They are all posh, and rich, and snotty, and well, he was none of those things(at least that is what he thought). He is just John Watson, a seventeen year old who lived in a small town his whole life. "Are you okay, John?" He jumped as he heard his mother speak from the opposite side of the vehicle.
He slowly turned his head in her direction and softly smiled before speaking. "Yeah, fine," he turned back to his window and continued to watch as the trees and nature slowly drifted into busy streets and buildings. The streets bustled with noise and chaos and it made him feel sick. The thought of being somewhere completely different from what he had known was dreadful to him. He mostly dreaded starting school here. He had no idea how the people could be, they could be rude, obnoxious, or just perfectly normal. He felt the car slowly halt in front of a small flat near a café. He slowly got out and held the door open for his mother who was unbearably silent. She crept out and walked to the door, waiting for her son to come to the door with their bags.
"The movers will be here tomorrow," she said with a sad look. His mother had been saying that she was okay with the divorce, but John knew, that she wasn't. She was incredibly sad that his dad left her for another woman and left her with all of the hard things. John nodded toward his mother as she opened the door to let him in with their bags. He followed her closely up the stairs to the empty flat. He dropped the bags at the door and looked around in a daze. It was so much different than his home. It was clean, and felt nice. It didn't feel like his old home, he felt comfortable. He was not expecting that. His mother leaned down and grabbed her bags and turned down the narrow hallway to what he assumed would be her bedroom. "There is a bedroom upstairs, that will be yours." She called from the other room. He grabbed up his bags and started up the stairs. When he got the door open, he sat his bags down and sat on the bed that had already been delivered. He took a deep breath and collapsed.
He laid there until he heard the doorbell ring. He got up and went downstairs to see that his mother had obviously not bothered to get up. He answered the door and a cheery woman stood there with some flowers. "Hello there! I'm Violet Holmes, I stay down the hall. I just thought I would come by and welcome you!" She stood with such swelling joy, that it made John want to gag.
"Uh, hello, John Watson, I live here with my mum. She's asleep right now, but thank you very much for the flowers." John stammered.
"You're very welcome!"
"Oh my goodness, where are my manners? Would you like to come in?" He said quickly, realizing that he hadn't invited her inside.
"Oh no, it's okay, I actually have to run right now, but thank you, it was great meeting you." She said cheerily before retreating from the door.
"You too," John called and she waved from behind her as she went back to her flat. John was honestly surprised that there were actually nice people in London. John went back up the stairs and his mother was coming out of her bedroom with a dazed look.
"Who was that?" she asked groggily.
"A neighbor, her name was Violet Holmes, stays down the hall," His mother nodded and went back to her bedroom. John went up the stairs to his room and lay back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling until he slowly drifted off to sleep.
15 SEPTEMBER, TUESDAY
"Sherlock! Dear, do wake up," his mother called from the hall of their infinite home. Sherlock groaned and rolled back over. His mother came in and threw his clothes onto his bed. "Rise and shine! We have a big day, today." She was exceptionally cheery in the mornings and it made Sherlock want to vomit.
"Mother, would it kill you to not be so cheerful in the mornings? It's utterly dreadful," Sherlock hid under his blankets and attempted to go back to sleep.
"Sherlock, dear, it is twelve."
"Fine. I'll be down in a few moments." After his mother left his bedroom, he rolled out of bed and didn't bother to get dressed. He walked downstairs with only his pants on and his mother glared at him. "What?" He asked knowing exactly it was that was concerning her.
"Go put your trousers on," his mother said nonchalantly. "I'll make you some toast, we're leaving in ten minutes."
"What?! Where are we going?" Sherlock asked completely annoyed with the idea of leaving.
"I told you, it's a surprise, although I know you always ruin them, now go on!" Sherlock sighed and went upstairs to get dressed. When he came down his mother went to hand him the toast and he just waved a hand at her in decline. "Well then, I guess we'll be going?"
"I suppose," Sherlock headed for the door and slammed it behind him before his mother could even get to it. His mother just shook her head and opened the door. Sherlock was already standing by the car waiting for her. "Will you please tell me where we are going?"
"The flat." She was completely emotionless with her tone as to attempt to keep her motives secret.
"Really? That's your big surprise?" Sherlock was completely frustrated. His mother didn't respond at all. She just got into the car and drove. Sherlock slumped down in his seat and stared out of the window. The car stayed silent the whole ride, and neither Sherlock nor his mother minded. When she pulled up to her building, she got out and started walked to the flat down the way from theirs. "Mother, where are you going?"
"You're going to meet the new neighbors. I met the son yesterday; he seems like a nice boy." She walked up and knocked on the door.
"Mother?! Why would you do that? I don't want friends!" As soon as he had finished his sentence he saw a short, blond-haired boy standing at the opposite side of the door.
"Hello, John!" Violet chirped.
"Hello, Mrs. Holmes, uh, who's this?" Sherlock groaned in response. John looked at Sherlock as if he were alien. He was tall, lean, and well, beautiful, to say the very least. John couldn't figure out what made him think this, but, something did.
"This is my son, Sherlock. Sherlock, be polite, say hello," Violet scolded her son on his manners constantly due to his lack thereof.
"Hello, John," Sherlock sounded absolutely non-convincing and unexcited.
"Sherlock," John nodded as he held out his hand, but Sherlock subtly denied. "Would you two care to come in for some tea or coffee?" John was utterly beside himself at what he was experiencing right now. Looking at Sherlock, with his perfectly molded cheekbones and sculpted lips.
"I actually have to go," Violet said quickly.
"As do—" Sherlock was interrupted when his mother stamped on his foot.
"But Sherlock here can stay and keep you some company." Violet smiled.
"Oh, uhm, well bye then, Mrs. Holmes," John said completely uncomfortable with being alone with this boy that obviously had wanted nothing to do with him.
"Bye bye. And please, call me Violet!" John opened the door to invite Sherlock in, and then followed him closely up the stairs.
"Want some coffee or tea or anything?" John asked staring at the boy wandering around his still packed up living room. "Oh, and sorry about the mess, the movers came today,"
"Hmm, yes, I'll have a coffee, black, two sugars," Sherlock wandered aimlessly around the semi empty space John would soon call home. When John came out of the kitchen, he realized that Sherlock had left the main room.
"Sherlock?" John called. He started to go up the stairs, until he heard a slight clanking coming from his mother's room. He went back down the stairs and ran toward her room and opened the door quickly to see Sherlock attempting to fix the vase that had been sitting on the floor. Sherlock looked up and very calmly stood and walked out of the bedroom. John wanted to yell at him, but there was something telling him that he shouldn't. He calmly shut the door and retreated down the hall. "Coffee's ready." John said as he saw Sherlock sitting on the sofa. Sherlock nodded in response and got up and followed John to the kitchen. John sat down at the cheap table and Sherlock sat awkwardly next to him. "So?"
"So, my mother dragged me here, and we both know that I don't want to be here, I do not like people, all everyone is, are incompetent twats, so if you would excuse me," Sherlock went to get up until he felt a hand on his arm pulling him back to the table.
"I do know that you don't want to be here. I knew from the moment I answered the door. Now, if you would excuse me, wherever you're going, I'm going to go with you. I've just moved here and it looks like both of us could use a friend."
"I don't have friends," Sherlock pulled his arm away and walked back toward the door.
"Well then. There's a first for everything, now isn't there." John caught up with Sherlock as best as he could, but his short legs just weren't helping him in this particular situation. Sherlock scoffed and gave John an alarming look.
"Friends are not necessary. They require caring, and sentiment, both of which I do not have nor want." John gave a very sad look when he heard this. It was as if Sherlock had just punched him in the gut, and now he couldn't form words. Sherlock stopped at a bench and sat down. John was confused by the action, but mimicked anyway.
"Well, they should be." John choked out, not knowing if he meant that friends were necessary or that Sherlock should have the ability to experience sentiment and care. "So, I take it that you don't have a girlfriend, then."
"Uh, no. Not really my area." Sherlock looked over John's short, strong stature in disbelief, that someone who appears to be just 'average' can really be completely gorgeous.
"Then what is your area?" John asked slyly.
"What are you implying?" He was seriously taken back by the remark. Most times when he says that, people just drop it, but not this time. Now he had to admit it; to himself, and to this perfect stranger. But he wasn't, not just yet. Not today.
"I'm not implying anything; I'm just asking you a simple question. But you don't have to answer if you like." Sherlock just nodded in response and left the conversation be. He hoped that John wouldn't see through his defense, as thick as he seemed, he highly doubted it, but, you never know. Sherlock stood up and started back for the flat while John followed closely behind.